


Hush

by DredgenTrust



Series: Shadows of Yor [1]
Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Bane is high-key into Vale, Choking, Cull is high-key into Bane, M/M, Masturbation, Petition for Shin Malphur to pick ONE name and stick with it, Shadows of Yor, Vale is high-key into Hope, Voyeurism, but Bane is the group bicycle and it’s all a little messed up, nobody is getting what they want
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-11 13:09:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20154130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DredgenTrust/pseuds/DredgenTrust
Summary: Callum could be real good for Teben, if only he wasn’t so hung up on Orsa. Pity Orsa isn’t quite so into him, even if theyarefucking.





	Hush

Admittedly, it hadn’t been with entirely pure intentions that Callum had set up his tent beside Bane’s. He’d wanted to... what, exactly? Keep an eye on him? Watch him sleep-blurred and soft in the mornings, a triangle of neck and collarbone exposed to the alien sun before they armoured up for the day? Be there to offer him a drink in the evening beside the fire, have an excuse to be near to him? Maybe he’d just wanted to torture himself with proximity. Perhaps it had been better than getting in between whatever tension Hope and Vale had going on between them.

He might admit to having wanted to set himself between Vale and Bane. Useless though it was, as he knew. 

Regardless, it had been a poor decision on Callum’s part. That first night they’d all stumbled stiff and worn-out from their pilot seats, the transmat rough enough as seven ghosts tried to co-ordinate through alien skies that all they could do was prepare to pass out beneath shelter. Little talking, less co-operation. It had been fine though, the night uneventful despite the slipshod work in setting up. They’d all slept heavy and silent, and when the dawn came they had all gravitated towards the centre of camp in dribs and drabs. An odd sort of camaraderie had arisen between them, made stranger for the kinds of people they were, and what they were there to do. Hunting down relics of a dark none of them quite understood, combing through site after site of burned-out ruins. Each trying in turn to become greater, each knowing the price of this kind of power. 

Perhaps, given that context, it was tasteless to be so cheered by the hot meal and drink they shared. For Cull to smile short but soft at Bane, fill his cup before he’d even had a chance to ask. After all, he was looking for those tiny joys atop such a scar as this, where countless had died. Then again, if those little moments were blasphemy then there couldn’t be words for what they planned to do. So even if the smile he got in return as he passed Bane an extra blanket when he noticed a shiver was more polite than warm, it lightened him just a little. 

Night came soon enough though, each trailing off to their own tent and leaving Callum alone once more. Folks weren’t quite so ragged this time, himself included, and he couldn’t quite drift off in time. Not fast enough, at least, that he failed to hear the soft noise of a tent flap opening. Nor Bane’s noise of surprise as it choked and broke into a moan. All of it hushed, as quiet as could be. If Callum hadn’t been so close, listening intently despite his own reservations, nobody would have known. As it was, the rustle of clothes was followed up by gentle whimpers. Then, more quickly that he’d have thought possible, the unmistakeable sounds of skin on skin; wet and fast movements, punctuated by pained noises from Bane. Still some enjoyment in there though, enough that he couldn’t deny what was going on so close to him. 

What drove him a little mad was that he had no idea who else it was. One of the larger members of the cohort, judging by the timbre of those occasional wordless grunts. Perhaps Hope, or Mire. Bane was the one making most of the sounds he could her though, every soft gasp and whisper as they fucked into him. Mostly heavy breathing from his partner, audible when Bane suddenly went quiet and muffled. Cull did his best to find distance. Pointedly refused to imagine hands pressing down on Bane’s face, fingers in his mouth, a hand on the back of his skull pressing his face into the sleeping bag ‘til he could barely breathe. The gasps as the noises resumed didn’t help, Bane audibly struggling for air even as those beautiful little sounds poured out of him. 

The thrill of arousal pressed through Cull, even if he did his best to ignore it, as a low and broken moan made its way up from inside the warlock’s throat and over to him. He shifted, eyes closed tight, and bit into his lip. Leaned closer to the fabric despite himself, wanting better access to whatever was happening between Bane and his partner. The wet noise of whoever was buried in the other’s body and the shaky whine it pulled from him went straight to the titan’s cock.

Breathing out through his nose, waves of colour burst behind his eyes with how tightly they were screwed shut. He kept his fists clenched at his sides, forearms taught, and the burn of muscle stayed just enough to dull the edge of arousal. Not enough that he didn’t have to clench his jaw tight to keep from making noises of his own though; particularly not when whoever it was let out a harsh breath and went still, as Bane muffled a groan somehow. Maybe with his own flesh, biting down into hand or arm. Maybe whoever was still buried in his ass helped with it, kept him quiet. 

Regardless of the mechanism, things in the other tent were silent and still for a long few moments. Then movement and another soft moan, a choking gasp that felt more raw against his ribs than any other had managed. Stillness again, and Cull was biting down against his own fist. Trying not to care about what was happening, emptying his mind of things he had no right to intrude upon. About whether this person would be staying with the warlock, holding him close in the night. Pressing kisses against bare skin, running fingers through those beautiful curls.

Ha. God, Callum was pathetic. 

Nonetheless he was glad as footsteps crunched slowly away from the tent, fading away to where the others were set up. He shouldn’t have been, nor should he have spent the next while sleepless. Should have focused on anything besides the conjured feel of Bane’s lips beneath his fingers, his arms wrapped around that slender form, the mouth and eyes begging for Cull in him in whatever form he would offer. He didn’t, though. Traveller, he should have, but he didn’t.

Sleep eluded him for a long time, long enough for his erection to flag and some small amount of self-aware recrimination to filter through. When they assembled once more, he couldn’t quite look Bane in the eye. Some part of him was checking the warlock for physical signs, for any indication of the previous night’s mingled pain and pleasure.

Suffice to say, they were both tired and distant come breakfast. Though admittedly in rather different ways. Cull still got him a drink, did his best to muster a drained smile. The warlock barely noticed, just swallowing down the coffee and trying to chase the sleep from his eyes. The titan, for his part, sat nearby. Didn’t look, just wondered what it would be to tease the tangles from Bane’s hair with nothing but his fingers. To press just a hint of solar energy into his spine, ease away the tension sitting there. Make him feel good and cared for.

Foolish. It was probably a good thing that his duties took him nowhere near Bane and Vale. Nearly made him glad; it was simpler, at least. His role was to comb the wreckage of another godforsaken encampment for physical markers. Trying to piece together a story from solid evidence, what was there and what was missing. Not worrying about the metaphysical implications of it all, puzzling out his patterns against old scripts and minutiae. Perhaps Yor had been following one old ritual or another, had plotted his route with unseen care. Perhaps not. It was beyond his purview, and he didn’t care to make it his own when others handled it far better.

One of the famous thorns sat buried beneath a charred beam of wood, the remnants of a structure long gone, within skeletal remains likewise long since passed. Cull took it with care, making sure that the sharp edges were kept far from bone and flesh. The pull on his light was strong, stronger than expected. It was still hungry where he had felt the bullets sated before. He could understand that hunger, sympathise with it even. It would have to stay hungry though; whoever it had drained of life had been less than satisfying, and he had no intention of allowing a second attempt.

Even with that new knowledge of the growing hunger, their success was minimal at best. Just another relic, one of many. The most progress made by anyone in the group that day though, the fruits of another site riddled with bones and empty of answers. Those places always felt dark to him. Not in the way he’d felt strong darkness, eating away at light; instead it was similar to how a shadow against the sun made the world dim for a moment. A bird overhead, the moving branch of a tree or something greater and further. It was simply as though something out there had taken a step between him and the Traveller, and he could no more push it away than he could tear a cloud from over the sun.

It was comforting in a way, to have such things beyond his control. After all, they ceased to be his problem once he could no longer help them. Bane smiled briefly, fingers brushing against his gauntlet when he took the thorn from Cull. A warning to be careful died unspoken, stupid and unnecessary. If anyone knew the potential locked within those little shards, it was the warlock. The bulk of the knowledge needed to fully comprehend the arcana and fragments left behind by Yor belonged to Bane.

Not that they understood much yet.

An air of frustration hung over the group that night, their meal taken in silence for the most part. Devotion had taken them this far, that and desire for more. The trail they’d followed was just that though; them following the movements of a man with a definite end. Every time they moved one step closer to Yor’s demise without finding a clue as to what that next goal would be, discontent festered. These sites had been failures, one after another, and the breakthrough they needed just wasn’t coming.

Vale in particular had grown cold and ever so slightly murderous as the day wore on. Now he sat, not eating, just watching the rest of the group. Eyes flat and hard, shoulders tight. His jaw set. Still determined though, still focused. Cull had always liked and respected that about him, the intent he brought to the group. He had difficulty finding drive sometimes, so when someone like Vale came along with his forward momentum and swept the rest of them along... well. Whatever was coiled so tightly at the base of the man’s skull, whatever mechanism was driving him, Cull trusted it to keep them on track. Admired it.

Nonetheless, the atmosphere was getting to him. Setting his teeth on edge, so that he eventually gave up and turned in. Just so he could avoid Bane’s gaze a little longer, put it off ‘til morning.

Half worried that whoever had visited Bane in the night would return, he did his best to sleep early. Half of him hoped that they _would_, and that was enough of a warning sign to convince him. No point dissecting this hellish mess of want and repulsion when he could just force himself into fitful sleep far too early.

The titan awoke to harsh whispers a few feet from his ear, to Bane sobbing with want. The voice took longer to parse, resolving as Cull’s head cleared into growled instructions. Vale this time, pressing orders onto Bane. Telling him to “stay still,” and “be quiet now,” and “don’t you dare take a breath until I _say_.”

Cull was already half hard by the time he fully understood what was going on, by the time Bane went fully quiet for the first time. The only sound he could hear was a rhythmic slide of flesh and Vale’s occasional noises of approval. Still terse, that tension from the meal audible. For a moment, the titan tried. He really did, gaze fixed on the fabric of the tent as he thought of other things. Lasted a good few second before eyes slid shut and he saw himself straddling Bane. Thighs bracketing him, a hand pressed over his mouth. Moving inside him, a slow press in and out with the warlock’s moans dying against his fingers. He licked against his own palm, barely even thinking about it, slicking himself up just enough. Closed the hand around his cock, still sleepy and wanting, squeezed against the length of it. 

Feet away, something Vale did forced a noise past whatever was keeping Bane quiet. It was ragged, pained despite the clear enjoyment in it. A desperation in the tone, a quickening of the movement he could hear in response. Bane, spread out beneath him and grinding up against where they joined. Cull holding him down with that hand against his face, the warlock licking against the restraint. Forgoing breath to taste him, lave his tongue up against Cull’s fingers. Taking one into his mouth to suck on in absence of anything else to fill it, still keeping him quiet as his lover moved slow and deliberate into that tight heat. 

“Be _quiet_.” Vale broke through the fantasy, the last word sounding punched out as though he’d fucked into Bane at that exact moment. Harsher than before, breath gone. “You want Cull to wake? Want to be heard, let him know you’re being used like this?” A yelp, muffled and strained. He had to work hard not to just thrust up into his fist at the idea, sick though it was. Knowing that Bane was at least thinking of him right now, it did something complicated to him. Was so glad though, that Bane hadn’t responded to the question, hadn’t shattered the idea that maybe he’d like that.

He kept pulling slowly, twisting as he moved, letting it build. All the while Bane kept making those beautiful noises against whatever kept him quiet, and he focused in again. Imagined his hands pressing against pale thighs, feeling the strength and softness in them. Bruising them up just a little, teasing gently without ever quite putting a hand on the warlock’s length. Making it so all he could do was cry and beg for Cull to touch him properly.

“Please,” a rough whine from the other tent. “I need-“ it choked off again, wheezing and shaking, and Cull was swallowing over and over again to keep himself from releasing his own groans of satisfaction. Couldn’t stop his hips from snapping up, fucking against that tight grip. The saliva wasn’t good enough, he wished so badly that he had any kind of lube to get close to how it must feel. That clinging wet heat, being buried in Bane’s body and feeling the walls press tight around him. The grip was right at least, and with enough movement and imagination he could get past the reality of a spit damp hand and lonely bedroll. Bane begging over and over for him, taking the fingers from his mouth to wrap them around the length of his cock, capturing bruised lips in a kiss instead. Giving him everything he wanted, fucking him fast and good until there was nothing left in his head besides Callum and pleasure and the way he moved against and within him.

Callum was so close now, fucking into his own fist hard and fast as could be managed, trembling a little with exertion. Those tiny noises, the lewd slap of skin on skin, Bane opening up beneath him while he plundered that beautiful mouth. Blissful, Callum working him over, making him feel so good-

“Shut _up_-“ everything went deathly quiet, and for a moment the way Vale growled slipped from commanding to genuine threat. Cull was already spilling hot and wet over his fist, shaking silently, but the thrill of sick fear turned it sour. Brought him away from the fantasy of Bane’s come spattered against his belly as he was filled, back into the dark tent. Listening while Vale came inside the warlock, a low groan. There was a long moment, and Cull dimly realised he could only hear one person’s heavy breathing.

Then, a ragged inhale. Movement, a noise from Vale that skirted the edges of distaste before Bane whimpered and - presumably - came. 

Clothes rustling, Vale leaving.

After a long moment, almost calculated for when Vale would no longer be in earshot, Bane began to sob. Quiet little things, muffled against something. Feet from him, Cull licked cooling spend from his fingers in sheer practicality. Did his best not to feel sick.

The next day, there were dark shadows beneath Bane’s eyes. A faint ring of dark bruises around his throat, hidden nearly perfectly beneath the collar of his coat. Vale looked far less tense, an ease to his movements that hadn’t been present before.

Cull still didn’t move his tent.


End file.
